Liar's Smile
by Doubleplusgoodduckspeaker
Summary: "You've seen it, in some of the finer swords. You can see the passion, the heart of their maker living on inside the steel. Swords like that make...especially powerful bullets." / Gun Kata AU, Dystopian, no set pairings (yet!).


FMA gun!kata AU, in the style of _Equilibrium_ and _Ultraviolet_. Classic dystopia, very AU, and with lots of guns and swords. Don't try any of this at home.

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"Liar's Smile"

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The country of Amestris never changed. The heartbeat of Central City was the footsteps of its people, and its people were predictable and dutiful—a perfect match to their concrete-and-glass houses, uncluttered streets and shops that each sold the same products. Even the trees that outlined the tall, steepled capital building looked to have the same amount of leaves. It had been created to be perfect, static, and somewhere along the line it had become immortal.

Riza Hawkeye hated it. She had once known true perfection, genuine happiness, but the city had taken it away from her. So she would become one of them, one of the groups she most despised—because no one would think to question the most dedicated officer. If she took from them, there would be no one left to take from her.

"Hold each position for five seconds before moving on to the next." She faced her students, her voice sharp. The candidates stood in straight lines on the courtyard, looking at their teacher with hunger in their eyes. But it was her uniform that they really had in their eyes—the military was one of the most prestigious jobs there was. Riza sighed. Half of them wouldn't pass the tests, and if they didn't meet her approval, they weren't going anywhere.

"Keep the enemy in your mind, and know where they will be," she said as her arms moved into position, fingers curled around the imaginary trigger as she prepared to fire. She moved into the next form, keeping her breathing even, the motions sharp and precise. The students mimicked her movements. "That is the first rule of gun kata—to not be where your enemy will fire."

"The second rule is fire at where your enemy will be." Her body reacted instinctively, tucking in to the smallest possible target. She twisted away from the probable line of fire. "Don't forget them." She led the group in the next form, taking a bold step forward as her body twisted, arms arcing in a quick circle. The enemy she visualized in her mind had no face—she had been searching, but had yet to discover them—but she still reacted, viciously taking every shot she could in her mind. _Murderers_.

Her next assignment was waiting for her after their session. She had requested it—Riza made sure to have a hand in every illegal weapons case—but every list that went into her hands was shorter than the last. Any resistance, any deviation from Amestris' ideals was swiftly met with confiscation and punishment. The day would soon come where rebellion was impossible because any alternative simply would not exist.

The first house was easy—the people really were too predictable—and they found the rapier right away, along with a spear that looked to be handmade. She collected the blade and broke the spear's thin handle while the rest of her team went after the man who had owned them. He had run at the first warning gunshot—it was something of a calling card for them—but he had probably already been caught. It was a cowardly thing, to run, and Riza wondered why he never tried to become one of them. Memorizing probabilities and pulling a trigger was far weaker than the strength it took to plunge in deep with the rapier's blade. You had to get in close enough to look your enemy in the eyes.

It hardly mattered; anything other than the capital's regulated firearms were outlawed. The rapier and spear point would be melted down into bullets, and that was how it always was. The country of Amestris never changed.

The family of the last house—a married couple, older but childless—was waiting calmly when they came for them. Riza knocked down the door to find them seated peacefully, the sword laid out before them. For one moment a stronger instinct took hold of her and refused to let her move. Riza looked at the family and at their heirloom before desperately wrenching herself free. She seized the sword, its weight heavier than she had expected, and turned her back when she heard the wife start to cry. The sword was beautiful—very old, and skillfully made. It would make ugly bullets to further the perfection of Amestris.

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In the canteen Riza sat at her usual place with a book when, suddenly, there was the thud of another meal tray in the space opposite hers. She looked up with a start—Colonel Roy Mustang was sitting at her table. Riza put her book down with as much dignity as she could manage.

"Colonel."

"Lieutenant."

"I hope you don't mind a lunch companion. They say food tastes better with good company," Mustang said, cheerfully shoveling forkfuls of potato into his mouth. "But that's not really why I decided on this little visit." His voice dropped low as he whispered, "Word is that you're being transferred. It's a temporary thing—the General up north is being summoned to Amestris and you've been appointed as her assistant while she's here."

"General Armstrong? What's she like?"

He looked down at his plate as if he found something privately funny. "I'll let you make your own opinions on that."

So it was no surprise when she was asked to Fuhrer King Bradley's personal office the next day. He worked at the top of the capital building in an office with windows from which it was said he could see the entire city. He sat at a desk like a throne.

Riza had to take a separate elevator to get to his office, and was ushered swiftly inside as soon as she stepped onto the landing. Besides King Bradley there was another woman in the room, her long fringe of blonde hair hiding a stern expression. Bradley stood, motioning for Riza to enter.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye, this is General Olivier Armstrong. General, the Lieutenant is one of our brightest young officers. Her marksmanship is second to none."

"I expect nothing less." Riza couldn't help but notice the medals pinned to her uniform—and the way she spoke to King Bradley. She turned her cold, blue eyes on Riza. "You will assist me for as long as I remain in Central. Are you ready?"

She nodded. "Yes, I am."

"Then let's go."

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In the days that followed, Riza performed her kata alone, her previous role as teacher delegated to one of Mustang's men, Seargeant Major Fuery. It wasn't enough to just be a great sniper; she had to also excel in close-quarters combat. Some enemies you had to get close to.

Riza arrived at the Armstrong Mansion early one morning with an armful of paperwork—she was earlier than expected, but then again, she always was—and waited in the foyer for the General. While she was waiting, Riza heard the most curious noise—hushed voices, several of whom she thought she recognized. It couldn't be the General's younger brother, he could never stay that quiet; no… for just a moment, she thought she heard Mustang's voice. It was this thought that caused her to stand and, against her better judgment, move closer to the source of the sound. It was coming from a room off to one side of the foyer, and just as she placed her ear to the door, it swung out before her and she stumbled to the ground.

Riza looked up to see the sharp blade of a sword pointed directly at her. General Armstrong kept her hands clenched around the hilt of the sword. "Get up and close the door behind you."

There was no one else in the large ballroom. The windows were all tightly shuttered and draped with elegant curtains, and a piano stood in the far corner of the room. After a moment Olivier lowered her sword slightly, her grip and posture still nothing less than threatening.

"Do you know what this is?"

Riza said the first words that came out of her mouth. "…It's beautiful."

It was. The sword was intricately carved with a design of flowers, with a custom grip on its hilt. Riza had destroyed enough swords to know when she was looking at something truly special. It was well-taken care of, and very old.

"What do you think, of your commanding officer possessing a weapon like this? I'm not the only one. Fuhrer King Bradley also owns a sword—he's a master swordsman." Throughout the entire exchange Olivier's voice had remained quite calm.

"Have you ever thought what all of those swords that become bullets are used for? I served over our fortress in the North, and we used those bullets to strike down the forces of Drachma. It's the same everywhere: first it was Ishval, and now Drachma. Next, it'll be Shing." She paused. "You've seen it, in some of the finer swords. You can see the passion, the heart of their maker living on inside the steel. Swords like that make...especially powerful bullets. Not something one could easily believe unless they've seen it."

"But I have," Riza said. It wasn't something she had ever admitted to anyone before. The official story had been that her father had died of illness, but she had been in the military too long to not recognize what had been done to someone who steps outside of Amestris' carefully tended boundaries. She had spent hours poring over the archives and reports, trying to determine who would have been watching them, who would have brought her father's work to the attention of the military. She didn't realize that such work had become one with the military itself.

"I've seen it with my own eyes."

"And what do you believe?"

It could very easily be a trick, but she could read people enough—and trusted in her own skills enough—to believe that Olivier was asking her honestly. She'd had countless opportunities to attack her so far, and had chosen not to. She could already begin to feel her shoulders rising, the pressure and weight fading away.

"I believe they should be stopped. Our duty is to protect our citizens, and it's something we've neglected for too long."

The faintest of smiles began to form on Olivier's face. She slid the blade of the sword back into a leather scabbard, the motion well-practiced, reflexive. She turned to the back of the ballroom. "Feel free to come out whenever you like."

The curtains surrounding the stage drew back, revealing Colonel Mustang and several of his subordinates. Riza looked at each of them in turn. She didn't quite know what to say. "I thought I was alone."

Mustang jumped down from the stage, heading towards them. Something about the look in his eyes made Riza think that her transfer, her appointment, was somehow all leading up to this very moment. "Nothing could be farther from the truth," he said, motioning for the others to join them as well. "Lieutenant Hawkeye, welcome to the resistance."

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**To be Contined.**

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Updates forthcoming, maybe in the next month? Check duckspeakeasy . livejournal . com or right back here for more of the story! Thank you for reading and please review, I value and treasure each one.


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